Operation Sea Ghost

17

THERE WAS A bad part of town in Monte Carlo.

It was tucked into a corner near the east end of the city; a single block lost in the shadows of the tallest luxury buildings.

The block was comprised of a few elderly apartment buildings, a handful of open-air cafés and what passed for a variety store in this part of the world. An alley snaked through the small neighborhood and down this alley, after a few twists and turns, was a tiny hostel.

It had seven minuscule rooms, stacked one on top of another. Batman and Twitch were now occupying the top floor.

They had no money and they’d exhausted every way they knew of to get any. Their debit card simply did not work. Nor could they figure out how to successfully make a phone call.

They were able to rent the room in the formerly sold-out boarding house only because they convinced the owner they were expecting funds to be wired to them soon and would pay him twice the going rate once they arrived. Because the proprietor was missing three fingers on his left hand, Batman and Twitch purposely exposed their prostheses while spinning him this tale. He rented them the room for nothing up front.

So they had a roof, albeit leaky, over their heads. And they had a place to sleep, though it was basically two rollouts on a cracked tile floor with folded towels as pillows.

They’d also eaten a little by walking through the Sun Casino, again prostheses in full view, and openly stealing bits of food from the buffets.

But there was no getting away from it.

They were the poorest two people in Monte Carlo.

* * *

THEY’D MOVED INTO the room shortly before midnight, five hours after being thrown out of the Grand Maison.

The next morning was the day before the start of the Grand Prix, and as bad and rundown as their hotel room was—its previous occupant had been arrested for counting cards, creating the vacancy—it actually had a fairly good view of Avenue des Beaux-Arts. Had they wanted it, they would have had an excellent seat for the race. But this had zero interest for Batman. He was still trying to figure a way out of their bizarre situation. Watching multimillion-dollar cars go flashing by their flophouse at 180 mph was the last thing he wanted to do.

The noise of these race cars revving their engines for practice laps roused him after only a few hours of restless sleep. In those first few uncertain moments upon waking, reality hit him like a ton of bricks. They’d arrived in Monte Carlo in first class, were given everything imaginable—the best booze, the best drugs, the best girls, ultraplatinum accommodations—and then suddenly, they’d been turned into nonpersons, virtual untouchables. Just when they should have been on top of their game trying to locate the Z-box, they’d been completely marginalized—and probably robbed.

Whoever was screwing with them was an expert at it.

* * *

FOR BETA SQUAD, the worm began to turn just after Batman woke up.

He was reheating some coffee they’d stolen from a casino the night before when he heard Twitch scream. He turned to see his colleague hanging halfway out of the room’s only window, yelling something.

But Batman couldn’t really hear him due to the racket of the Grand Prix cars zipping by.

So Twitch began yelling louder: “You gotta see this!”

“No thanks…” Batman replied, tasting the foul coffee. “No interest in race cars … Had enough of that last night.”

But then Twitch walked over, grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him halfway out the window

“I said ‘Look!’” Twitch commanded him. “Down there…”

But all Batman could see were the race cars screaming by, taking their practice laps.

“OK—fast f*cking cars,” he yelled back at Twitch. “So what?”

“Screw the cars,” Twitch told him. “Look down on the sidewalk—in that café.”

Batman did as told and saw nothing unusual—for the first few seconds.

But then, he saw what Twitch saw.

Sitting at a table almost right below them was a familiar face.

Batman was stunned.

“Wow—is that who I think it is?” he gasped.

Twitch was sure. “It’s him…” he said.

It was Audette. The CIA agent who’d come aboard The Immaculate Perception to brief them in the first place.

But no sooner had Batman seen him than the agent stood up, threw some money on the table, then quickly hailed a cab on a side street and disappeared, almost as if he knew he’d been spotted.

“Freaking spook,” Batman said once he had gone. “I wonder what he’s doing here?”

* * *

THEY WERE SURPRISED to find a library in Monte Carlo.

It was part of a small culinary and hospitality college run by a consortium of local casinos. While it wasn’t exactly open to the public, Batman and Twitch, once again making sure their prostheses were on display, played the sympathy card to get past the head librarian and into the media room.

Twitch was Whiskey’s computer whiz, plus he could type faster than Batman. They found an unoccupied PC and he immediately went to work.

Their number one goal was to get a secure communication to Kilos Shipping headquarters in Aden. But though they had the right address and password, after ten minutes and as many attempts, Twitch couldn’t get the e-mail to go through.

This was all too familiar. Everything else on the computer worked: browsers, Web sites opened, even Skype popped on the screen. But, for whatever reason, the computer refused to send any kind of message Twitch created.

“I don’t get it,” he said to Batman. “Do they rig these things so once you’re in paradise, they don’t want you to talk to people who aren’t here?”

“It’s e-mail, man,” Batman replied, frustration boiling over. “They got e-mail in freaking Siberia. Why not here?”

Even when they switched to another computer, one that they’d seen the previous user sending e-mails from, it simply would not work for them. They even tried to send Kilos a fax on line, but like the e-mail it disappeared into the ethers.

It was just like the ATMs and the public phones the night before. It didn’t make sense. It was as if the technology itself was against them.

Then Batman got an idea. “Let’s forget the e-mail bullshit for a minute,” he said to Twitch. “Do you think you can get past the Grand Maison Casino’s computer security system?”

Twitch was already typing. Not twenty seconds later he said: “I’m in. What do we want to know?”

Batman thought a moment, then said: “How about this: Obviously we didn’t pay a dime for that penthouse. And we certainly didn’t reserve it and now there’s a good chance that it was all just an elaborate setup. But it must have cost someone something, right? At least for the food and booze?”

“Probably…” Twitch replied.

“So then,” Batman told him. “Let’s see who actually paid for all the Macallan and those Dolce & Gabbanas and Cohiba Behike cigars.”

Five more minutes of frenzied typing followed and Twitch was eventually able to get into the casino’s encrypted financial files. Then he began a search for who paid for all the accoutrements they’d enjoyed while in their luxurious suite.

It took a few more minutes, but finally Twitch was able to pull up a long list of items that had been “routed” to the Grand Maison’s royal penthouse. It was all there: the cigars, the liquor, the cotton robes and the eagle eggs.

Twitch read the total off the screen: “Twenty-two thousand, six hundred and fifty-two dollars, including the meals and booze.”

He looked up at Batman.

“This for a room that was still being renovated? A place that wasn’t even supposed to be open?” he exclaimed.

“Had to be a bribe,” Batman replied. “Someone on the inside got paid off for making it all look legit. The real question, though, is who paid the bill?”

More typing, but Twitch eventually found a name.

“It says some guy named Bobby Murphy paid the bill,” he reported. “In cash, no less.”

Batman had to read it for himself.

“‘Bobby Murphy?’” he said. “Who the hell is Bobby Murphy?”

* * *

IT WAS A slow morning at the Monte-Carlo Bay Casino.

The newest of the handful of gambling halls in the small principality, most of the patrons were out near the casino’s front entrance watching the Formula One cars take their practice laps in anticipation of the big race kickoff the next day.

One man was sitting at the Chemin de Fer table, though, counting his meager piles of chips.

It was CIA agent Mark Audette. He was killing time.

His breakfast that morning had been several cups of coffee at a nearby café and nothing else. He’d drank a soda with ice around 10:00 A.M. and another one a half hour later.

Finally, his bladder started calling for relief. It was time to visit the facility.

He left the card table and walked to the nearest men’s room. Two men dressed in maintenance worker clothes followed him in. Suddenly one of the men slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

The next thing Audette knew, he was looking down the barrel of a Glock 9.

“What the f*ck…” was all he was able to say before he realized it was Batman on the other end of the gun.

“You?” he gasped. “The pirate guy?”

“And my trusty Boy Wonder, Robin,” Batman said, indicating Twitch, who was standing behind Audette.

“How did you know I would be here?” he asked them.

“A government employee—in a place like Monte Carlo?” Batman replied. “No surprise you’d be staying in the cheapest place in the city.”

Audette began squirming.

“Why the hardware?” he said. “We’re all on the same side here, remember?”

“Are we?” Batman asked, pressing the pistol a little closer to his nose. “Are you even with the Agency?”

Audette seemed insulted. “Of course I am, you ass…”

“Show us your ID,” Twitch told him.

Audette laughed. “We don’t carry IDs,” he said. “You guys should know that. Now, please, lower the artillery.”

But Batman ignored him. He reached inside Audette’s shirt pocket and pulled out the agent’s sat-phone.

“You know the one you gave us was a piece of shit,” Batman told him, indicating the sat-phone. “Crap made in China. Defective battery. You name it.”

Audette rolled his eyes. “I hope they’re not all like that,” he said almost under his breath.

Batman checked the nationality of Audette’s sat-phone. It looked different from the ones he’d dispensed to the team earlier.

“OK—Motorola,” Batman said. “Made in the USA.”

Still holding the gun on Audette, Batman dialed their number in Aden. But the call wouldn’t go through. He passed the phone to Twitch. He tried—with the same result. The call would not connect.

Batman whipped the phone into the nearest trash basket.

“This thing’s a piece of shit, too,” he declared.

But Audette complained. “Hey—I need that!”

“Forget about it,” Batman told him angrily. “Just tell us what the f*ck is going on here?”

Audette shook his head. “What do you mean?”

Batman pressed Audette. “We’re supposed to be working for you, right?”

“Yes—you are…”

“Then why have you put us out to pasture? Forcing us off track? Distracting us? And stealing ten million dollars from us?”

Audette seemed authentically confused. “What are you talking about? I didn’t know you guys were here until this very minute.”

Batman quickly told him everything that had happened to them in the past twenty-four hours. Their five-star welcome. The penthouse. The royal treatment. Maurice’s visit. The buy-in fee. The disinformation agent. The chase and the jump jet, and then their transformation into nonpersons.

“When you consider your employer tried to stage a battle against some fake pirates, only to get bested by real pirates,” Batman said, “I think what we just went through is just weird enough to have the CIA’s stink all over it.”

But Audette protested at every turn.

“I guarantee you the Agency had nothing to do with any of this,” he told them. “We want this Z-box back in the worst way. Why would we stand in your way of getting it?”

The room became silent. Audette was right. It didn’t make sense that the CIA would impede Whiskey’s progress in getting the Z-box back, not if its contents were as “embarrassing” as the Agency feared.

“What about this ‘buy-in’ money you were supposed to give us then?” Twitch asked him.

“That’s all total bullshit,” Audette replied heatedly. “You were there when I got the phone call. I found out about the Monte Carlo connection at the same time you guys did.”

“So you say,” Twitch challenged him. “That could have been faked, your way of being in on this scam.”

Audette pleaded, “But why would I want to extort money from you guys?”

“Because you knew we’d just gotten paid ten million for rescuing the wicked bitch of the west,” Batman said. “You saw us as suckers.”

“Listen,” Audette said. “Let me tell you something. When it comes to my job, I’m like a big city cop. And there are people out there whose job it is to watch my bank accounts and make sure they’re not growing bigger than they should and that I’m not squirreling away nest eggs or taking money from the Chink-Coms. Plus, I’m not about to steal ten million from the guys who got close enough to whack Sunny Hi.”

“Well, someone stole it from us,” Twitch said. “And when we catch him, they’re going to wish they went as fast as Sunny Hi did.”

Audette just shook his head. “Guys—please, we’re not in a movie here. All I can tell you is there’s no reason me or anyone in the Agency would stand in your way of getting the Z-box back or try to rob you.”

Batman finally lowered his pistol. And Twitch did, too.

But they were still certain Audette knew more than he was telling them.

“What are you doing here then?” Batman asked the agent.

Audette was getting perturbed now.

“I’m here because this is where the box is supposed to be,” he snapped back. “Where would you want me to be? In Gotta-f*ck India?”

“OK then, who is this Maurice guy?” Batman asked.

Audette was adamant. “I got no idea. I’ve never heard that name in any of our operations. Never heard it as a cover name. And I sure don’t know anything about any big secret card game.”

“OK then,” Batman said. “Who is Bobby Murphy?”

That’s when Audette’s face dropped a mile. His shoulders slumped and he almost turned pale. “Oh, God…” he moaned. “Please no…”

“Who is he?” Batman pressed him.

“I can’t tell you,” Audette stumbled in reply. “Just like I couldn’t tell him about you … if he was involved in this … which I don’t think he is. But who knows? And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

It took Batman and Twitch about ten seconds to let Audette’s rambling reply sink in. Then it hit them.

“We’re not the only special ops team working this, are we?” Batman spit at him, raising his pistol again.

Audette hesitated a moment, but then relented. He shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he finally admitted.

“How many?” Batman asked him. “Besides us?”

Audette shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Some things I’m not privy to. But more than just you guys, I know that.”

“One more? Two more?” Batman growled at him.

“Yeah … about that. I mean, there aren’t many privately run special ops groups around—but we hit them all, I guess.”

“So you’re saying you hired those a*sholes from the old Blackwater?” Batman asked him. “And DynCorp? And EOD?”

“I’m not sure,” Audette insisted. “I know we got a lot of eyes out there looking for this thing.” He paused, then added: “And a few bent noses, too.”

Batman and Twitch just looked at each other. “Bent nose” was code for …

“The Mob?” Batman asked him. “You got the freaking mafia involved in this, too?”

Audette just shrugged. “Hey, it’s a tradition with us,” he said. “Ever since World War Two. They’re watching the ports in the U.S. for us, checking to see if this thing comes in anywhere. Someone’s gotta do it.”

Batman was growing furious. “So you guys hired a bunch of groups like us and then, what? Pitted us against one another? While not letting one group know it was in a competition?”

Audette nodded again. This time it looked painful for him.

“And everyone’s going for the hundred-million-dollar prize?” Batman asked.

“Yes—you got it right,” Audette said. “I know it was dumb—but you have to remember, we want this thing back very badly—and if this doesn’t prove it to you, nothing will. We thought if we had more than just one private special ops group going after it, the chances of retrieving it were that much better. I mean, you guys are the pirate specialists, so I was sure you’d have a leg up on the rest of them. But we never dreamed that one group would find out about the other and then throw up roadblocks against them. We went to great lengths to make sure not a word of this ever leaked out.”

Twitch spoke up. “You know what this sounds like? This sounds like a f*cking reality show. Like you got the big prize hidden somewhere. One team f*cks up the other. Winner take all.”

Batman looked into Audette’s eyes.

“This isn’t some kind of weird loyalty thing is it?” he asked him. “Or the Agency’s weird idea for a psy-ops experiment.”

Audette replied quickly. “No—of course not,” he said. Then he thought a moment and added, “At least I don’t think so.”

Another silence. Then Batman asked him, “So let’s get back to this Bobby Murphy character. He’s the CO of another special ops outfit, I take it?”

Audette seemed to want to bite off his own tongue.

“I can’t tell you anything about him,” he said. “But yes, he’s the alpha dog of another group of operators. Very independent operators. In fact, when it comes to busting terrorists, his group is considered the best special ops group in the world, military or civilian.”

“If that’s true,” Twitch said, “how come we’ve never heard of them?”

Audette just nodded.

“Exactly,” he said wryly. “But I didn’t sign them up, I swear. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he found out about it somehow on his own and just wormed his way in. That’s the way his guys are—guys and girls, I should say. They’re like phantoms. Supposedly they travel around in this old container ship, whacking terrorists, completely unauthorized shit. But they’ve got a lot of weapons and people who can use them. So, believe me, I’m sure they’re the ones who are glitching you. They probably stole your ten million, too, because while they’re in the business of terrorizing the terrorists, they’re usually cash-strapped because no one in the U.S. Government wants to fund them—they’re just too ‘out there.’”

Audette paused for a moment, then asked: “Did you actually meet him? The man himself?”

Batman shrugged. “How would we know?”

“Well, this guy you said came to you in the penthouse,” Audette replied. “This guy Maurice? What did he look like?”

“Like the most ordinary person in the world,” Batman replied.

Audette shook his head emphatically. “Yep—that’s him, the bastard,” he said. “He looks like your favorite uncle or the guy next door. But he’s into some crazy shit. His bunch are like you guys, heroes running around after 9/11. He’s the one who punked you, though. I’m sure of it now. Only he could pull off something like that in that casino. It sounds like he arranged that chase to get you out of that penthouse—and the Harrier thing was the cherry on top.”

“Son of a bitch,” Batman moaned. “So we were sideswiped even before we knew it.”

“F*cking dicks,” Twitch said. “Trying give us the shiv—and steal our money!”

“That’s the way they operate,” Audette said. “They live, eat and breathe psy-ops. Just ask bin Laden’s cub scouts. They’re deathly afraid of Murphy and his crew. And if those guys put their mind to it, well…”

“Well, what?” Batman asked him.

“Well,” Audette answered. “If you guys want that ten million back, never mind your payday, you got your work cut out for you.”

Someone started pounding on the men’s room door. They were starting to attract attention.

“We gotta get out of here,” Batman told Audette. “But believe me this isn’t the end of it.”

He let Audette off the wall, finally. The agent adjusted his suit and tried to get himself together. Then Twitch unlocked the door and the three of them walked out, to the great curiosity of the man who’d been trying to get in.

Once in the casino’s lobby, Audette said, “So, now that we’ve talked, do you guys mind telling me what you’ve found out about the box since you arrived here?”

Batman began to say something, but stopped.

But Twitch jumped in. “Yeah, when you open it, a green glow comes out and kills people.”

Audette almost bought it. Then Batman said, “Seeing as we might have a security problem here—as well as a competition problem, it’s best that we keep anything we’ve found out … proprietary. You can understand that, right?”

Audette shrugged. “Understandable,” he said. “But at least tell me, what did Bobby Murphy say about the box’s location? Did he think it was really coming through here? Or is it here already? Is it going to change hands here? Or was everything he said wrapped up in this card game?”

Batman hesitated again, more questions flashing through his head. Was Audette telling the truth when he said he didn’t know about the Grand Gagnant card game? Did the card game even exist at all? Or was it just more of Bobby Murphy’s bullshit?

Before Batman could say anything, Twitch just laughed. “Screw you,” he told Audette. “We’re not telling you anything. So hit the bricks.”

Audette just shrugged again. “OK,” he said. “Be like that. Just don’t get upset when you see a lot of people running around here in trench coats, sunglasses and big funny hats. Because they’ll be going after the same thing you are. And you’re already ten million down in the game.”

He started to leave, but then Batman stopped him.

“By the way,” he said sheepishly. “Do you have any extra cash? You know we lost everything in this scam. We don’t have two dimes to rub together.”

Audette smiled slyly. He looked at Twitch, then said, “Gee, guys, I’m tapped out. Sorry…”

Before Batman and Twitch could argue with him, Audette walked away and quickly disappeared into the crowd.